As Mad as a Hatter: A Short Story Collection

by Catherine Stovall

  Amy picked up the pen and wiped at her face to dry her tears. If this is what he wants, then I will give in. With a heavy sigh, she thought, Just like I always do.

  Her hand hesitated as she took a deep breath, almost unwilling to put the tip to the paper and sign away her vows. In that brief moment, she heard him calling her name across the radio. The excitement in his voice could only mean they had found something.

  The documents slid to the floor as she leaped up from the chair and ran out of the tent, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind and shining under the daunting sun. She saw him running toward her, and it brought back a thousand memories of the exhilaration they had shared on digs all over the world. Whatever it was they had uncovered, had to be big, and she ran faster to meet him halfway.

  “We’ve found one!” David screamed as they closed the distance between them.

  Amy squealed as she rushed into his arms, sorrows and anger momentarily forgotten as they embraced. Stepping away with an awkward smile, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the site. “Hurry, let’s go!”

  ****

  Amy stood on the edge of the grave site, staring down in disbelief. Tears overflowed from her lashes to trace down her dusty cheeks as her heart went out to the smaller of the two. The female had lain with her body curved toward the male, her head on his shoulder and hand on his cheek.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the couple, long before the flesh had rotted from the bone. She envisioned them, the woman full of devotion and the man already deceased. In those final moments, they had shared a kiss that had stretched on for six millennia, the wife believing their souls would be reborn together in another time and place.

  Amy tried to think of what it must have been like to lay down in the dirt, knowing death was only moments away. The tradition was barbaric to her first world perception, but she was still awed by the bravery and strength it must have taken. A woman was considered to be less than a man in the times of the couple in the grave, and yet, the widow had faced being buried alive to prove her love.

  David shifted, and Amy was surprised. In her rapture, she’d forgotten he was there. She couldn’t help but love that he was just as mesmerized with the discovery as she was. In the face of such devotion, she questioned her life and her choices. She questioned her love for her own husband in a new light.

  The pure tragic beauty of the couple caught in forever’s kiss made Amy’s heart break, but the significance of a love that could out last death and time gave her hope. Linking her hand with David’s she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  Sweet Sally Slasher

  The eerie rhyme accosted Joanna’s ears and sent a shiver up her spine as she rounded the corner. The three little girls skipping rope sang on and on, their dresses catching in the slight breeze as the whoosh-slap sound of the rope went faster and faster. The young blonde girl walking beside her tried to stop, tugging her little hand to escape her mother’s grip.

  “Come on, Abby. We have to get the groceries upstairs,” Joanna tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. She had been constantly reminding herself over the past month of the trauma her child had experienced. She wanted Abigail to have at least one decent parent.

  “Mo-o-o-my,” Abigail whined. “I want to play with the other kids.” Her big blue eyes instantly filled with tears and the tremor of her voice threatened a world class tantrum.

  Running her hand through her own dark hair, Joanna sighed. She had never given in to her daughter’s fits before Kirk had caused them so much heartache. Frozen on the steps of the little brownstone apartment building, Joanna slipped back in time to the day, almost a full year before. A single hour had changed her life forever.

  She’d come home, tired from a long second shift at the all-night diner and distracted by a million mundane thoughts. She had her keys out to unlock the door, assuming both husband and child would already be asleep. The moment she heard Abigail’s screams, all those things had fallen away into a pit of blackness. Her mother’s heart recognized the sound of true fear and pain in her child’s voice.

  Bursting into the house, she had run toward her daughter’s room. In the dark shadows, she witnessed the man she had loved for eight years turn into a monster. Abigail was lying in a heap on the floor, her scream, one long relentless sound. Kirk stood unsteadily above her shouting at her to shut up. He had never noticed Joanna enter the house, had never heard her frantic approach. He stepped forward, preparing to kick the child and shatter their once peaceful home.

  Joanna reacted without caution for herself. Her motherly instincts drove her forward as she threw herself at her husband. His already teetering balance was thrown off, and they both crashed to the floor with a sickening thud. Kirk, his brain slowed by the large amounts of alcohol he had consumed, was stunned from the blow. Joanna had just enough time to stagger to her feet before he attacked her. His large hand wrapped around her throat like the unforgiving coils of a python. With one powerful thrust, he pinned her to the wall.

  His voice was dark and sinister, so different than the man she thought of as the real Kirk. “I will kill you both. You and that bitch daughter of yours. Ungrateful, bitches. I gave you everything. Now that’s not good enough. Both of you hate me. You want more and more.”

  Tears streamed down his face and his hand closed tighter on her neck. Joanna fought against him. Her nails dug into his arms and face as she kicked at his legs. Instead of breaking his hold, her actions only angered him more, and he squeezed until she choked and her vision grew dark around the edges.

  Over Kirk’s shoulder, Joanna saw the damaged the man had inflicted on her daughter’s sweet face. The child screamed for her mother and the sound of that pitiful cry woke something inside Joanna’s mind. She had somehow managed to hold on to her keys during the attack. Ironically, the small bottle of mace she used in her defense had been a gift from Kirk when she had started working nights.

  Blinded by the spray, Kirk released her and Joanna crumpled to the floor, gasping for oxygen. Unable to take the time to restore herself, she scurried on all fours, choking and sputtering, to Abigail’s side. Grabbing the child’s hand, Joanna dragged them both to a standing position and ran for the door. Miraculously, they made it to the car without Kirk catching them.

  After months of ugly court cases, prying questions, and a move to a new city, they were finally free. Their lives were settling into an easy routine, except for Joanna’s constant worry. The bruises of their nightmare had faded, but the fear stuck to them like a permanent disability. Kirk had made threats to come after Abigail, and Joanna feared for her child’s safety every second of every day.

  Abigail pulled at her mother’s hand, forcing Joana back to the present. Her whine was like a cheese grater against the tender gray matter of her mother’s brain. “Mommy. Mommy. I wanna go play.”

  At last, Joanna gave in. “Okay honey, you can play. I’m going to go up and put the groceries away. Then I will be right back down to get you.” Her voice hardened as she bent down and pulled the child closer. Two pairs of deep blue eyes locked on to each other as she whispered, “Remember, if anyone comes up to you, what you must do.”

  The familiar fear cast a shadow over Abigail’s eyes. “Yes, mommy.”

  Joanna rushed up the stairs to put the groceries away. As she watched her little girl make new friends, something inside of her shifted and a piece of her heart healed. Standing at the window, scanning the street on both sides of where the girls played, she allowed her child a half hour of well-deserved freedom.

  ****

  The day had been uneventful and Joanna felt relaxed when she sat down to sort through the mail. Abigail was playing in her bedroom and the fading sun cast a warming glow on the tiny kitchen. As she shifted the envelopes into separate piles, her hands began to shake and tears erupted from her eyes. The familiar scrawl, the handwriting she had observed for eight years, could not be mistaken. He had found her, surely a violation of his sentence.

  The shri
ll sound of her standard ringtone for unidentified callers made her jump in the chair, knocking several letters to the floor. She stared, heart hammering in her chest, at the phone as it rang again. The number wasn’t private at least, but she couldn’t stop her mind from thinking it would be Kirk on the other end. She glanced up, panic tracing its way across her features, as if he would come bursting in the door to finish what he had started.

  She let the phone go to voice mail, paralyzed by her fear. As the irritating tone finally ended, she eased herself from the chair and went to check the deadbolt on the front door. The tone signaling a voice mail had been left sounded as she crossed the faux hardwood linoleum to the table, and Joanna’s heart slammed into her ribs again.

  She picked up the phone as if it might turn into a poisonous snake. Pressing the button that would dial her message inbox, she held her breath and listened. If he was going to give her advance warning, she was going to take it. As she went through the automated system, her mind ran through the things she would have to do in order to grab their necessities and be gone within the hour.

  The voice in the message was not Kirk’s, but the words still hit Joanna like a ton of bricks. She felt herself sliding against the refrigerator door. Abigail’s colorful pictures slipped with her body until they drifted free and glided to the floor. The panic and pain was more than she could manage. How could they? How could they? Her mind played the mantra over and over.

  “This message is for Mrs. Joanna Daniels. This is Tabatha Weller from the victim’s advocate office in Avery. Mrs. Daniels, as a service to the victims of violent crimes, we provide you with updates to the offender’s case.

  “Mr. Braxton is being released from the Avery County Jail tomorrow. He will be on probation, and as a stipulation, he will not be allowed within one-hundred yards of you or the minor child, Abigail Braxton. I am sure you have plenty of questions, please call me at any time.” The woman left her number and hung up.

  Joanna couldn’t muffle the sounds of her despondent crying any longer. She openly sobbed, gripping the phone tight. She saw his eyes, glinting with drunken hate as he squeezed the life from her body. She wanted to vomit as the fear settled in her stomach. Her mind started to drift down a dark and twisted road of memory until the sound of Abigail’s voice pulled her back into the present.

  “Mommy!” The child ran to her side and crumpled into the floor next to Joanna. “Mommy, what’s wrong.” The fear was so thick in her tiny voice that Joanna instantly hated herself for her weak moment.

  Through her tears, she tried to comfort her child with a safe excuse. “Mommy stubbed her toe, baby, and it really hurt. I will be okay. I promise.”

  Joanna had never thought a seven-year-old girl could look or sound so stern. “You scared me. Don’t ever do that again.”

  She hugged the child tighter to her trembling body and smoothed her hand over the girl’s long, blonde hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

  She had forgotten the letter with his handwriting on the front and a doodle on the seal her child would recognize. He had always called her is little flower. He had drawn the same smiling daisy for her time and time again. She remembered seconds to late. Abigail stared at the letter lying in the floor next to her white sneaker.

  Before Joanna could stop her, Abigail snatched up the letter and began shredding it in her hands. She screamed the same tormenting sound she had made that long ago night. All the pain and betrayal rushed back in and ravaged the child’s already damaged mind.

  On her knees in the floor, Joanna grabbed for the girl, trying to stop the madness she was sinking into. “Baby? Abby? Abigail! Stop. Stop it. He can’t hurt us anymore. He can’t get you. I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  The girl’s hands continued to tear at the envelope and the letter it held. “No! He can’t come back. You can’t let him. You promised. You weren’t there, Mommy. You weren’t there.”

  She struck without warning, the impact of her small fist more than Joanna expected. The blows came in rapid succession, and the child screamed louder with each strike as Joanna fought to restrain her. When at last she pinned Abigail’s hands to her sides and pulled her into her lap, the girl struggled for only a moment longer before falling into a lethargic, sobbing state.

  Once she had Abigail subdued, Joanna tucked her into the queen sized bed in the main bedroom. She sang the song her mother had sung to her when she had been a child. The little girl drifted off to sleep, secure in the comfort of her mother’s bed, and Joanna snuck out into the hallway to return the victim advocate’s call.

  The conversation was lengthy and Joanna felt a stab of guilt when she once more said no to the counseling they offered. She wanted no traces of her and Abigail in the system if she could prevent it. She wanted to remain a ghost. The woman went over the terms of Kirk’s probation in as much detail as she could, and repeatedly assured Joanna she and Abigail were safe.

  By the time she went back into the apartment, an hour later, she felt secure once more, but disappointed in the justice system. To her surprise, she heard Abigail’s voice drifting down the hallway. Wondering why it sounded so distant, Joanna ventured closer, and saw the child’s bedroom door was closed. She pressed her ear to the thick wood and listened.

  “No, I don’t want to sing it again.” A slight pause and Abigail protested once more, “I’m tired. You woke me up and I don’t want to sing.” Silence followed for a full minute before she heard Abigail’s sweet voice reciting the song the girls had been singing while skipping rope.

  Sweet Sally Slasher

  Hated her master

  She told me

  One, Two, Three

  Murder is easy.

  Pretty and sick

  Four, Five, Six

  She cut the pieces quick,

  Something about the sound of her child singing the sickening nursery rhyme caused Joanna to shiver. She pushed open the door without knocking and found Abigail sitting on the floor playing with her dolls. The child’s eyes widened in surprise, and Joanna couldn’t help but think she looked as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  Cautiously, Joanna looked around the room. “Who are you talking to, Abby?”

  Her small face jerked to the right as if someone had spoken into her ear before she turned innocent eyes to her mother. “Just my dolls.”

  Joanna went to sit across from her daughter. A cold draft shifted across her skin, and she felt the goose bumps rise on her arms. “What was that song you were singing?”

  “It’s a story about the girl that used to live here.” Abigail’s eyes shined with the pleasure of knowing something her mom did not.

  “Really? What happened to the girl?” Joanna felt herself grow angry when her daughter delved into the tale.

  “Well, her name was Sally, and she was real pretty, but her daddy was mean.” Joanna could hear the unspoken words behind the statement. She knew Abigail meant the man was mean, just like Kirk. “He would hit Sally and do bad things to her. So one night, Sally got really mad and she cut him up and threw the pieces down the wishing well.”

  Joanna was horrified. She made a mental note to find out the names of Abigail’s friends and talk to their mothers. She couldn’t believe the girls would scare a younger child with such gruesome stories. “What wishing well, baby.”

  Abigail, as proud as she could be, leapt up and took her mother’s hand. She dragged her to the window that looked over the small rear yard. At first, Joanna couldn’t see what the girl was pointing at. Straining her eyes against the early evening light, she finally caught sight of the well.

  Nestled into the edge of the courtyard, the old stone well was partially hidden by the overgrowth and small wooded area that had been allowed to form a natural barrier between the connecting properties. Even in the waning light, the structure made Joanna uncomfortable.

  “That can’t be true, honey. Did those girls from downstairs tell you this? It’s just a story, and I don’t wa
nt you to sing that song anymore. Okay?”

  Abigail looked defeated as she ducked her head. “Yes, mommy.”

  ****

  The next morning, life seemed less doom and gloom as she left for work. Joanna knocked on the door to the apartment across the hall. She could hear the sounds of giggling from the other side. Eva Danaghue, an elderly woman living off her deceased husband’s pension, answered with a bright smile. Joanna gave Abigail a quick peck on the cheek and sent her off to play with the other kids Eva watched.

  Seeing there was something on the younger woman’s mind, Eva gave the girls a no-nonsense stare before stepping out into the hall. “What’s wrong dear?”

  “Eva, I’m sorry to bother you about this. I’m sure it’s nothing, but some of the other girls taught Abby a rhyme yesterday. It was about a girl who killed her father and dumped his body in the well out back.”

  Eva looked startled. Her wrinkled hand, with its paper thin skin, pressed against her chest and her eyes filled with tears. “That’s a story I haven’t heard in a long time, Joanna. Poor little Sally.”

  “You knew the girl? It’s true?” Joanna felt feint.

  “Why yes, dear. It happened the year my Charles and I moved in, that would have been back in the early sixties. The building was brand new. Oh, you should have seen it in its splendor. The little girl, she was the building super’s daughter. They had such things as building supers back then. Her momma had passed away, and she was left all alone in that apartment with him.”

  The nod of the woman’s head indicated the very same apartment Joanna and Abigail inhabited. “We all knew he treated her rough, but that was a different time. One didn’t simply intervene in another’s business. We were all fools. I had often commented to Charles how much I wished I could take her into our home. We were never blessed enough to have children, and I would have loved that child”